Scandal on Eaton Square
by The Yankee Countess
Summary: PREVIEW CHAPTER! This is a fic I will be coming back to write more of in the near future. Sybil Levinson is an heiress who would much rather devote all her time and energy to the suffrage movement than find a husband. She needs a good man to help keep the fortune hunters at bay. Basically, she needs a butler! Enter Tom Branson...
1. Author's Note!

**Scandal on Eaton Square**  
_**by The Yankee Countess**_

**AUTHOR'S NOTE**

**Very important; Please read first!  
Trust me, it will help so you can understand what the heck is going on :oP**

The following story is a "PREVIEW" chapter of something that I hope to one day write more of; another Sybil/Tom AU, also set during WWI, also involving a "employer/servant" romance, BUT with a twist!

So my dear friend **Magfreak** (a wonderful S/T author; seriously, you need to read her stuff if you haven't) were going back and forth about possible AU ideas for our OTP (as you do) and I *believe* this idea popped up over the conversation about seeing Tom in the footman livery that he wore in 2x03, about "what if Tom weren't a chauffeur, but still a servant for the Grantham's?" Then Magfreak took it to a whole new, and in my opinion, MUCH MORE AWESOME level, saying,

"_What if Tom worked for Sybil as her butler? __**AND**__ she's an heiress, living by herself in Eaton Square, carefree and single, because she's spent so much of her time and energy with the suffrage movement, that she never bothered looking for a husband. __**BUT NOW**__ would-be husband hopefuls come knocking, due to all the noblemen losing fortunes because of the War, and Sybil needs 'a good man of affairs' to help keep said suitors at bay: enter Tom Branson."_

Well, I always liked the idea of exploring the Sybil/Tom romance from a different perspective, where he's an "indoor servant", just because I always thought the tension would be even tenser (being so close and yet needing to restrain themselves even more). So after bouncing a few ideas back and forth, THIS is what happened.

**June 18 is Magfreak's birthday**, and I "joked" with her about what she would like, fully expecting her to make this request ;o) (and honestly not minding in the slightest!) As I said before, this is a PREVIEW of things to come! Now let it also be clear that this will not be coming for quite some time, sadly. I need to get on top of my other fics and get some of those under control (always the problem: too many good ideas, never enough time!) BUT it is something I would like to come back to, and hopefully it will get some folks excited to see such a story explored sometime in the (hopefully!) near future :o)

_OK! NOW FOR SOME BACKGROUND INFO…_

Miss Sybil Levinson (that's right, you heard that correctly, Miss Sybil _Levinson) _is the American-born niece to Robert and Cora Crawley. Sybil's mother died from typhoid fever when she was very young. Her father, while not a cruel man, fell into despair and honestly had no idea how to raise a little girl, thus asking his sister Cora, to take the child and raise her as if she were her own daughter. Sybil often spends the summers in America, visiting her father and American grandmother, however she has developed a somewhat strong-sounding English accent, and a bulk of her education has been in Britain (although she would very much like to attend an American university). Sybil is very close to her aunt and uncle, as well as both her cousins, and happens to be the same age as Edith. Her great-aunt Violet sponsored both her and Edith during their coming-out seasons. The Crawleys are well-to-do landed gentry, and Violet is a *distant relation* to the Earl of Grantham, but Robert _is not_ the present earl.

In April of 1912, tragedy strikes when Robert and Cora perish aboard the Titanic. Mary and Edith (both of whom are married) offer their homes to Sybil, while Violet vows to help Sybil find a husband in the upcoming season. However, Sybil surprises everyone when she decides to go and live in London with her Uncle Robert's sister, Rosamond, who is very active in the suffrage movement (and who has inspired Sybil, much to Violet's horror).

In early 1914, Sybil receives news that her father has passed away. Martha arrives and more or less tells Sybil that she is now officially the heiress to the Levinson fortune. Suddenly, Sybil's prospects in society change overnight.

Sybil has no desire to become involved in the "mating rituals" of society, and sees this news as an opportunity for freedom! Now twenty-one, and with Rosamond's help, Sybil sets up a house of her own in Eaton Square, and fully invests all of her energy into the suffrage movement, from attending rallies to writing articles for the newspapers, and none whatsoever on marriage.

Yet change does come to Eaton Square, shortly after the announcement of war. Sybil's faithful butler, Charles Carson reveals his wish to retire (and at long last marry Rosamond's housekeeper, Elsie Hughes). Sybil is ecstatic for both Carson and Mrs. Hughes; however this does put her in a bit of a predicament. She desperately needs a new butler, especially one who has Carson's formidable attitude in frightening away the fortune hunters who come calling.

And _THAT_ is where this Preview Chapter begins…

_**Happy Birthday Magfreak!**_


	2. A Good Man is Hard to Find

_As mentioned before, here is the PREVIEW chapter...this was a ton of fun to write, because I have ALWAYS wanted a scene like this in a Sybil/Tom fanfic, and now, FINALLY, I have it! Hope you enjoy! More to come in the near future! ;o)_

* * *

**Scandal on Eaton Square**  
_**by The Yankee Countess**_

A Preview

"My feet are killing me…"

Sybil lifted an eyebrow at her friend Rose, who was groaning as they continued trudging down the cobbled streets of White Chapel, pamphlets in hand and adorned in their purple, white, and green sashes.

"I told you that you should have worn boots instead of those flimsy things," she sighed with a shake of her head, eyeing Imogen's shoes, the toes pinched into delicate points, the heels looking far too high for something as simple as walking.

"They are the latest fashion," Rose grumbled. "And besides, I need to break them in!"

"For what purpose?"

Rose's cheeks turned a rosy hue, but despite her blush, she smiled widely. "Mr. Bellasis is calling upon me this afternoon."

Sybil's widened. "Again?"

Rose couldn't help but grin. "He's taking me to Kew Gardens; I want to look my best and that includes wearing these heels!"

Sybil did her best to suppress an eye roll. Rose was a sweet girl, truly, but she could be a little silly at times, especially when it came to suitors. It was just something Sybil would never understand, as in all honesty, she had never shown any desire to pursue a relationship with a man beyond polite friendship.

Rose groaned. "How much longer do we have to do this?"

"Just a few more streets…"

"You said that several streets ago."

"Oh for heaven's sake!" Sybil turned and gave her friend a stern look, her hands balled into fists at her hips. "You told me you wanted to get more involved in helping the movement! But it isn't all tea parties and special luncheons at Sulfridge's."

"I know that!" Rose muttered, looking embarrassed and a trifle irritated at Sybil's accusation. "And I meant it; I do want to be more involved! I just…didn't realize canvassing was going to be this exhausting," she grumbled, wincing on behalf of her aching feet. "Not to mention it gets rather tiresome, having doors slammed in your face."

Sybil sighed, and then looped her arm through her friend's. "Come on, we'll do three more streets. We should run into Lavinia and Imogen by then, and I'm sure I have enough money to purchase us a cab ride back."

At this Rose found herself laughing. "Oh Sybil, you have enough money to purchase all of White Chapel a cab ride to anywhere they wish!"

Sybil shushed her friend, not wanting to talk about money so openly and freely in one of London's poorer neighborhoods. In all honesty, she wasn't proud of the fortune she had inherited. While it was money earned by her grandfather for all his hard work, she had certainly done nothing to deserve it, other than bear the family name of Levinson.

Truly, it was amazing what something as simple as a name could do. Suddenly, a person could go from being someone's daughter and granddaughter…to suddenly being the heiress to an American fortune, and all because a name.

Well, that and because her dear father, God rest his soul, was now finally buried and put to rest beside her mother in a cemetery somewhere in New York, leaving her as the sole descendent to the Levinson family empire, or so her grandmother referred it. Oh how she wish she weren't. While her family's wealth had certainly afforded her certain freedoms, such as her dear house in Eaton Square, and the chance to devote all of her energy into working for the cause, it did bring about its own set of problems.

…Mainly in the form of unwanted gentlemen.

"Distract me," Rose groaned as they continued walking. "Tell me about how your search goes for Carson's replacement."

Sybil sighed, shaking her head. "He assures me that he will find me someone," she began. "However, the few potentials he has brought forward to me are rather…" her voice trailed off, trying to think of the most polite way to describe the men Carson had suggested to take his place once he officially retired from his position as her butler. Not being able to, she sighed and simply said what she was thinking. "Old."

Rose lifted a brow at this. "Old?"

Sybil nodded. "Quite old."

Rose couldn't help but laugh. "Butlers are supposed to be old, silly!"

"Carson's not old!" Sybil protested.

"He's old enough to be your father," Rose argued. "And that makes him 'old'."

Sybil still frowned at this. "Well, compared to these potential candidates, Carson is the opposite of 'old'," she explained. "I've met with a few of them, but…" she sighed, feeling extremely frustrated over the entire issue. She never thought something like finding a butler would be so…difficult! But she knew that the true reason it was, was because who, really, could replace Carson? Let alone come close to being his equal?

If her great-aunt Violet were aware of her situation, she would first grumble about why Sybil was letting Carson retire in the first place (she would scoff at the whole notion of the man wanting to retire so he could finally get married), before stepping in (as she always did), offering her "services" to help Sybil find a replacement.

And that was the last thing she needed, her great-aunt hiring a butler who instead of keeping the fortune hunters away, would pick up a broom and practically sweep them inside! No, she mustn't allow her Aunt Violet to learn anything about the matter until a new butler was safely hired.

"It's not so much the age of the man that is the problem," Sybil tried to explain. "Simply…I need someone who is a bit…well, a bit _intimidating_."

Rose rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Is it so bad to be adored by hundreds of gentlemen?"

Sybil gave her friend a dark look out of the side of her eyes. "It is if those gentlemen are only interested in marrying you for one thing!"

"Oh I doubt it's _just_ the one thing they're after…"

Sybil stared at Rose, momentarily stunned by her friend's insinuation. Rose simply threw her head back and laughed; it wasn't often that she was able to shock Sybil speechless.

Still blushing deeply, Sybil swallowed and tried to regain her composure, while directing Rose towards several doors for them to knock on with hopes of distributing their pamphlets and gaining more supporters for the cause. Of the remaining fourteen doors they knocked on, only six did not slam immediately in their faces, with four accepting their pamphlets, and one listening to everything they had to say. Sybil could understand Rose's feelings of frustration and defeat; their afternoon of canvassing in White Chapel had not been one of their better moments. Still, she was quick to remind herself that any door that did not slam, and any hand that accepted the information they offered, and any ear that willingly listened to what they had to say, made it all worth their while.

By hook or by crook, women of Britain were going to get the vote!

"Alright, that was three streets," Rose groaned, pausing and leaning against a nearby fence for her feet's sake. She spotted a small bench that looked rather filthy, but not caring, quickly hobbled over to it and sat down. "And until Lavinia and Imogen join us, I'm going to rest right here."

Sybil sighed and turned her head, peering down a nearby intersecting lane. She still held a great many pamphlets and hated the idea that they hadn't found more success. "I'm going to go down one more street," she announced, pointing at one of the intersections. "Just knock on a few more doors…"

Rose made a face. "Oh Sybil, for heaven's sake, sit down and rest!"

But Sybil shook her head. "It's alright, you sit there and keep an eye out for the others; I'll just knock on six more doors, then come back."

Rose was still frowning, but there was concern in her eyes. "Do you think that's wise? Going by yourself? Especially…" she lowered her voice as she looked around them. "Especially in a place like _this?"_

White Chapel was indeed a far cry from Eaton Square, but the women of East London needed the right to vote just as much as any other. "I'll be fine!" Sybil reassured, putting on a confident smile. "And like I said, I'll only do six houses. Six houses, and then I'll be right back here."

Rose still didn't look so sure, but didn't try to stop her either. Sybil gave her friend a parting smile, and then turned on her heel with a determined look and step, and began marching down one of the intersections, her head held high, determined to get through to at least one person amongst the six doors she knocked on.

However…she hadn't even reached one door, before something off to her side distracted her.

There was…yelling?

Yes, yelling and…cheering? She frowned, her eyes peering down a side ally between two houses. The yelling and the cheering were coming from there!

_I shouldn't, I really shouldn't; I should keep to my task, knock on my six doors and then return to Rose…_

But her feet were already carrying her through the dirty ally, towards the voices that grew louder and louder the closer she approached.

A crowd stood up ahead. Sybil frowned as she drew closer, seeing the backs of all these men, huddled closely, waving their arms, some muttering, some cursing, some spitting, some drunkenly cheering…

There was another sound that she could hear as well. The sound of men grunting, and growling, and…what was that other sound?

Not caring that she was the only woman lost amongst this sea of dirty, drunken men, Sybil pushed her way through the crowd, more determined than ever to see why they were all shouting and what was causing those other strange noises she had been hearing…

"OH!"

Sybil gasped as she finally came upon the sight.

Before her stood a homemade "ring", composed of a thin piece of rope tied around several fence posts. Within the ring were two men, both shirtless, both covered in sweat and dirt, and both looking as if they were trying to kill each other!

An illegal fight! She had stumbled upon an illegal _organized_ fight! Indeed, because despite the crudity of the two fighters, it was clear that this was not just some random street brawl. Several men stood nearby, taking bets, gathering money, laughing and cheering for their favorite fighter as the men in the ring attempted to pulverize each other with their bare fists.

Bare-knuckle boxing. Yes, while she didn't follow men's sporting events in general, she knew enough to know that bare-knuckle boxing was indeed, illegal!

"COME ON, BRANSON!" shouted someone from the crowd. "I'VE GOT TWENTY QUID ON YOU! DO NOT DISAPPOINT ME!"

Sybil turned her attention back to the ring, staring at the two fighters as they swung their fists at each other. This was hardly a fair match! One man was huge! A giant! He towered over the other, his arms the size of tree trunks, his fists the size of boulders, the sun glinting off his bald head. The other man was considerably smaller in height, and while he himself was quite broad and muscular in his own right, he could hardly compare his opponent's size! But his smaller size did make him quicker, and Sybil watched with wide eyes as he darted out of the other fighter's grasp, before the giant's fist had a chance to meet its target.

The crowd was growing wilder, starting to push and shove against one another in excitement as they cheered on their favorites. In the process, Sybil was finding herself being pushed and shoved closer towards the ring, practically trapping her between the flimsy rope and the wall of bodies behind her.

The smaller man ducked again and missed the giant's punch, but not before leaving a punch of his own on the giant's face, causing the bigger man to stumble and stagger backwards.

She knew nothing about either fighter, but she couldn't deny, she found herself rooting for the smaller one, who right now was looking rather smug and proud of himself for the punch he had delivered. The giant however, managed to quickly recover, and Sybil gasped as he growled, before lunging forward to extract his revenge.

"LOOK OUT!" Sybil cried, her hand flying over her mouth as she watched in horror as the giant reached to grab the other man and no doubt, pick him up and fling him across the ally.

The smaller man turned the second she screamed, alerted to his oncoming attack—however it wasn't his opponent that he looked to, but rather…her.

Sybil's breath caught in her throat as she and the fighter locked eyes momentarily.

_So blue…_

But the moment was short-lived when the giant attempted to swipe at the smaller man with one of his massive fits, causing the smaller man to duck and roll out of the way—and roll right into her.

"Umph!" he grunted, his side hitting her legs.

Sybil nearly toppled backwards, but was held up thanks to the cheering crowd behind her. She looked down and saw the fighter groan, shaking his head, before pulling himself up onto his hands and knees, before finally rising to his full height right in front of her.

_Oh…he's not that small_, she realized as she looked up at him. Indeed, he was much taller than he looked, up close. And she swallowed as she stared back into the most astonishing pair of blue eyes she had ever seen. _Blue with a little green in them._ And then he smiled, his handsome mouth stretching across his strong jaw, wrinkling at the corners, making him look young and mischievous. _Good heavens, he can't be more than thirty, surely! Thirty-one perhaps? Thirty-two?_

She suddenly felt an intense heat fill her face, and she quickly lowered her eyes, suddenly feeling embarrassed for staring back. However, if she had been blushing before, it was nothing compared to now, as her eyes now stared back at his broad chest, naked and gleaming with perspiration_. I don't know what I was thinking when I thought he was 'smaller'…he may not be the tallest man I know, but he certainly is one of the most muscular! _

"BRANSON, BEHIND YOU!" shouted someone from the crowd.

The fighter lifted his head towards the voice, and Sybil practically shrieked as the giant made another dive towards him, his fist flying and nearly hitting him, but he ducked just in time, missing the impact of his opponent's punch. Sadly, the same could not be said to the man just to Sybil's left.

A chorus of sympathetic "ooohhh's!" rang out from the crowd, only to be followed by cheers and laughter as the other fighter, the one with the astonishing pair of blue eyes, pummeled the giant's large belly with his fists, causing the larger fighter to grunt and double over, before throwing his fist back and connecting with the giant's nose.

A loud crack was heard then, seeming to echo off the ally walls. Sybil gasped as suddenly blood was splattered across her face from the giant's now broken nose. The larger fighter groaned then and fell to his knees, clutching his nose in both hands as he howled with pain. "FINISH HIM!" shouted someone. "FINISH HIM, BRANSON!"

Sybil's eyes widened with horror and she looked up at her blue-eyed fighter. No, surely he wouldn't humiliate the other man? It was clear that he had won! Why make it worse?

Thankfully, he seemed to have the same idea.

He was panting and stared down at the giant who was still kneeling on the ground, still clutching his nose and still groaning in pain. "Well?" he asked the giant, his body still tense and ready to continue fighting if his opponent wished, but thankfully not while the other man was down.

"You…you win!" the giant muttered from behind his hands, wincing as he spoke. "You win, Branson."

_Branson_. Sybil looked up at the fighter and found herself smiling. Now she had a name for the man. Her smile began to broaden even more as she watched the victor—_Branson_—reach out and lend a hand to help his opponent up. She even lifted her hands to begin clapping, but was quickly drowned out by several loud "BOO's!" that began to rumble around the crowd.

"FINISH HIM!" someone shouted, and was quickly followed by a loud cheer.

"I AIN'T PAYING IF HE DOESN'T FINISH HIM!" someone else snarled, which was quickly followed by several loud curses, men demanding that they receive the money they were owed, while others refused, saying that the fight ended on a draw, since Branson didn't knock the giant out.

Now the crowd was beginning to shove at each other again, and Sybil gasped as she felt herself being shoved around once more. Good heavens, were these men about to start a riot over some silly gambling? The man had won fair and square! The giant even yielded! And yet because Branson had chosen good sportsmanship over humiliating his opponent, now these drunkards were prepared to take the fight out of the ring into the ally amongst themselves!

"OH!" she gasped, being pushed and practically falling backwards when two men nearby began to shove against each other. Thankfully, something—or rather someone, had caught her before she hit the ground.

She gasped again as she looked up and met eyes with none other than the handsome fighter whom she had "met" earlier, when he rolled into her legs. Her eyes widened and her cheeks darkened when she realized that not only had his strong hands caught her about the shoulders to keep her from falling, but that she was rather pressed close to his naked chest.

"Come on," he muttered, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and quickly guiding her away from the angry crowd.

"My pamphlets!" Sybil exclaimed, realizing that in the midst of being shoved around, she had dropped them.

"You can get more!" he growled, not relenting and leading her away, just when police whistles could be heard in the distance. The fighter (Branson) muttered a curse under his breath, and quickly moved the both of them to another nearby ally, out of sight and away from the wild crowd just as the police descended upon them. "Bloody fantastic," he groaned as he watched the crowd quickly disperse as the police began to make several arrests.

"You're bleeding!"

He looked at her, and then down at himself to see where she was pointing. "Oh, that," he chuckled, his hand quickly wiping away at the stain. "Don't worry, it's not mine." He looked at her then, and Sybil felt that strange lump return to her throat. "Looks like he got you too," he murmured, his fingers automatically rising to brush her cheek, where some of the giant's blood had spattered on her. She sucked in a breath then and stiffened as she felt his fingertips lightly touch her cheek, and that was when he seemed to realize what he was doing, and quickly lowered his hand as well as take a step away from her. "Sorry," he muttered, lowering his eyes and seeming to, for the first time, realize his current state. Did he have a shirt, she wondered? It was probably back there with her pamphlets.

"Do you…" Sybil realized that she had begun to speak, and suddenly felt very foolish for even attempting to break the awkward silence, because now things seemed even more awkward.

"Do I…?"

She swallowed and closed her eyes, quietly chastising herself for behaving in such a silly manner. "Do you do this sort of thing often?" she asked, opening her eyes and looking at him as if he were a member of parliament she had come to demand answers from.

However, the lazy smile which he returned was nothing like that any member of parliament had ever given her.

"Do I do this sort of thing often?" he repeated, clearly finding amusement in her question. Sybil frowned, not sure if he was mocking her.

"It's a perfectly valid question, I think," she defended, lifting a brow and daring him to mock her again.

Instead, he chuckled. "Well, that depends on what you mean."

She frowned. "What I mean?"

He nodded. "Aye; if you mean, 'do I find myself in situations like this, half-dressed and talking to a beautiful woman in a dingy ally in East London, while trying to avoid being arrested for illegal fighting'…then no." Sybil felt her cheeks burn at his mention of her being beautiful. "Or certainly as often as I wish…"

Her eyes widened and she gazed back at him, stunned as he gave her a grin that could only be described as "cheeky". Good Lord was he…was he _flirting_ with her?

"And what about you?"

She was caught off guard by his question. "Me?"

He nodded. "Do _you_ do this sort of thing often?"

She stared at him, utterly confused by his question. "Do I…let strange, half-dressed men lead me down dingy allies?" Two can play this game, she thought. "Only every other Thursday."

Branson threw his head back and laughed at her answer, a warm, rich sound that heated Sybil's blood. She couldn't help but smile back, glad for some reason that she had amused him.

"Touché," he chuckled. "But what I really meant was…do you try to win the hearts of a bunch of drunks?"

Her smile quickly vanished at his words. "Win the hearts…?"

"For the cause," he clarified, and Sybil realized then that he was pointing at her sash, the colors of the suffrage movement. "Very brave, I must say; although some would say very foolish."

She frowned at this and made a bit of a face. "I was _not_ canvassing at your…your fight," she defended, silently cursing at how red her face no doubt was, based on how hot her cheeks felt. "Although I would say that perhaps you men could use some 'guidance' when it comes to the running of things, be it government or an illegal boxing match."

He chuckled again and folded his arms across his chest, something Sybil tried desperately not to take notice of. "Believe it or not, I'm all for equal rights; in fact I have no doubt that if women were in charge of this country, the war would be resolved and Ireland would have her freedom."

She had noticed his accent. No, he was not English to be sure, and this confirmed it. And his words also appeared to confirm his political leanings. "You're a…republican then?"

He nodded, his eyes watching hers and gaging her reaction. "Aye; I'm also a socialist."

"Oh!" Sybil's face lit up then. "So am I!"

He seemed momentarily surprised by her revelation. "You are?"

She rolled her eyes. "What, a woman can't be a socialist as well as a suffragette? The two go perfectly hand in hand!" she folded her own arms across her chest and held his gaze, lifting her chin just slightly. "And I also happen to support Ireland's wish to be an independent state."

He narrowed his eyes slightly. "You'd be the first Englishwoman I know who does."

"Perhaps that's because I'm not English? Well, not technically."

Now he looked really confused. "Wait…how…what do you mean—?"

"I was raised in England," she explained. "But I was born in America. My parents are American. My mother died when I was six, and my father…well, he didn't really know how to raise a child on his own, so he sent me to England to live with my aunt and uncle. My Aunt Cora, his sister, married an Englishman; so I've grown up here, in England, which is why I sound English, but…well, I suppose you could say we Americans have 'independence' in our blood."

He nodded his head slowly as her information washed over him. "I see…" he murmured, although he still looked confused.

Sybil looked back at him, her eyes focused completely on his face…and her brow furrowed as she studied him, _really_ studied him…an idea beginning to form.

"Branson…" she murmured, speaking his name for the first time. He seemed surprised at hearing her voice. She smiled then and held out her hand to him. "I'm Sybil…Sybil Levinson."

He looked down at her hand, and then back up at her face after she spoke her name. Perhaps he would believe her now that she told him she wasn't English, after hearing her rather "un-English" sounding name. She also wondered after she gave him her name, if he was aware as to whom she was, but judging from the blank expression he wore, she felt at ease that he was ignorant on that particular subject.

"Tom…" he answered, taking her offered hand in his. "Tom Branson."

She smiled and gave his hand a hearty shake, something she knew men were not used to, but she always preferred shaking hands like a man, than the delicate way men would sometimes hold a woman's wrist.

"So tell me, Mr. Branson," she asked, after releasing his hand. "Besides winning illegal boxing matches, what else do you do?"

He seemed momentarily taken aback by her question, no doubt because of her forwardness. But unlike her friend Rose, Sybil was not one to "beat around the bush". Besides, while Mr. Tom Branson may not be aware of it, at least not yet, Sybil was conducting a business meeting.

"To be perfectly honest," he said, once again folding his arms across his chest. "I'm between jobs at the moment."

"Oh?" she tried to keep her interest from being too obvious. _It's never wise to appear too eager_, her Aunt Rosamond had always told her. "And what are your skills?"

"Besides bare-knuckle boxing?" he couldn't help but chuckle. "Why, are you offering me a position?"

"Perhaps."

Now she had completely taken him by surprise. The cheeky grin he had been wearing vanished entirely, and he stared at her with a look that was an equal combination of madness and surprise.

"You…are in need of an Irish bare-knuckle boxer?"

While he had asked the question with a bit of humor in his voice, Sybil could tell that he was struggling to believe that she was genuinely proposing the offer of a position. "Well, those skills may come in handy for what I have in mind," she considered, smiling to herself as she imagined Tom Branson handling unwanted callers the way he handled that giant back in the ring. "Do you have experience in service?"

He seemed to stiffen slightly and she bit her lip; had she insulted him? She had not meant to.

"I've worked as a footman, in both Ireland and here," he explained, his voice not revealing any emotion on the subject. "And I was a chauffeur in my last position."

"A chauffeur?" Sybil asked, smiling at this information. That could come in handy too, if the need ever arose. But his work as a footman was very good news, especially considering that it would provide some experience for what to expect with the position she was considering him for.

"Do you need a chauffeur?" he asked, still looking wary.

"I would need a motor first," she explained. "But actually, Mr. Branson, I was thinking something more along the lines of…butler."

Even though he was standing perfectly still, when she spoke he practically looked like he was about to lose his balance. "WHAT?" he asked, staring at her as if she truly had gone mad. No doubt that was what everyone would think if they ever learned the truth to why Tom Branson had been hired to serve as her butler, _if_ he accepted the job, which in all fairness, she had not yet offered. _Not yet,_ at least.

"My butler is retiring," she began to explain. "He's getting married, finally, and so I am in need of a new one."

"You can't be serious…" he whispered, staring at her in utter disbelief.

Sybil groaned. "Why not?" she asked, her hands once again balling into fists and going to her hips as she stared back at him. "You said so yourself you have experience working as a footman; more than once! That will help you as ease into the position, and I have a small staff anyway, so it shouldn't be too difficult to manage—"

"You don't know anything about me!" he interrupted, looking at her the way so many others looked at her, an expression she loathed, because it was an expression where people thought she was completely daft.

"I know that you have experience in service," she told him, lifting her chin and refusing to be spoken down to. "I know that you and I are like-minded when it comes to politics, and I know that you are a decent man, because you could have 'finished' your opponent back there, humiliating him in front that entire crowd, but instead chose honor and fairness, when you had clearly won."

He didn't have a response for her. "I…" he paused, staring at her, no longer looking at her as if she were crazy, but simply…in wonder. "I…I don't have a reference," he murmured, looking rather embarrassed. "You should never hire anyone without a reference."

"True," she sighed. "Nor should one conduct a business meeting in a dingy ally in White Chapel, but here we are." She offered him a smile, hoping it would ease him a little. "Besides," she murmured, leaning in as if she were about to share a special secret. "I think we both are the sort of people who like to make our own rules, don't you?"

He looked at her, and Sybil felt a strange warmth wash over her as she saw the edges of his mouth lift in a smile. He had a very handsome smile…

"You really are serious…" he whispered, looking at her in complete awe.

She smiled and nodded her head. "I am. You need a job and I need a butler, Mr. Branson; a man who is not easily intimidated, someone to whom I can rely on in a pinch, and to be perfectly honest, it would be rather nice to have someone who doesn't think I'm wasting my life by concentrating all of my time and energy to the cause."

She blushed, thinking perhaps she had revealed a little too much about herself. The truth was, even though he was still very much a stranger to her, there was something about Mr. Tom Branson of Ireland that she liked. Well…there were several things about him that she liked, but those other things she quickly squished, trying at best to concentrate on the things she needed from a butler.

"Anyway, please give it some consideration." She dug into her reticule and pulled out her card, quickly handing it to him, and breathing out a small sigh of relief when he took it. "If you accept, please come to this address at three o'clock tomorrow afternoon."

He looked at the card, his eyes widening as he took in the address. "Eaton Square?"

She nodded, blushing slightly. "Yes; Miss Sybil Levinson, 149 Eaton Square. Simply come to the front door; I'll explain everything to Carson."

He opened his mouth to say or ask something else, but was stopped short when several women's voices were heard nearby, calling her name.

"Oh bugger," Sybil muttered, causing Tom Branson's eyes to widened at the curse that escaped her posh lips. "It was lovely to meet you, Mr. Branson," she said, forcing a smile and giving a little curtsey, before quickly picking up her skirts and walking away at a brisk pace to reunite with her friends.

"And you, Miss Levinson…" he replied back, still in awe at everything that had just taken place, both the conversation and the woman that was walking away from him.

"SYBIL!" Rose cried, upon seeing her emerge from the ally. "Oh gracious, you gave us a fright! Lavinia! Imogen! I found her!"

Sybil blushed and smiled at her friends as they quickly approached her. "Sybil! Where have you been?" Lavinia gasped, looking at her worried-filled eyes. "Rose said you went down the street to knock on several doors, but we didn't see you! You know you're never supposed to canvass by yourself! And then the police came rushing by, and there was word about some fight, and—OH!"

Lavinia paused in her speech, her eyes transfixed over Sybil's shoulder. Sybil blushed and glanced behind her, not surprised at the sight that her friend was seeing. Indeed, all of her friends were staring at the shirtless Irishman who was walking several yards ahead of them towards the remnants of the make-shift boxing ring, kicking rubble aside and bending down to retrieve a dirty piece of fabric (no doubt his shirt).

"Gracious…" Rose whispered, a giggle in her voice and a mischievous smile on her lips. "Who's that do you think?"

Sybil couldn't help herself and turned back to smile at her friends. "With any luck…my new butler."


End file.
